by Sybil Ling
One of these items is located in the front hall: a grandfather clock, something that Hank had discovered as Eugene read to him the listings in the antique markets from the stack of a dozen or so local papers that Hank subscribes to for just that reason.
He was sitting down to breakfast one morning, about three years prior, as Eugene stood beside him, scanning the papers for anything that would go in the house.
“A chest of drawers for sale in Little Rock, sir. Not a bad price for it either,” Eugene said, turning the page so Hank could see it.
Hank waved a hand, his mouth full of Eggs Benedict, without even looking up at the page. Eugene nodded and went on.
“Hmm … oh, a set of table and chairs. Made of oak, recently polished and redone. Asking four thousand.”
“I want something to do up myself, not something already complete,” Hank responded, taking a gulp of orange juice.
“Indeed, sir,” Eugene said. Flipping to the next paper, his eyes widened for a moment before he spoke. “Well now, here’s something, sir: grandfather clock; eighteen-hundreds, unsure of specific year. Found in barn cleaning, in need of good fix. Currently not working, asking one thousand.”
Hank’s eyebrows lifted as he held out a hand and Eugene deposited the paper into it. Hank scanned the listing, then told Eugene to get him the phone. Less than an hour later, Hank and his Appraiser were driving to Bonsall, a thousand dollars in cash on them, on their way to purchase this non-functional grandfather clock.
The job of fixing it back up was, in fact, cut out for him. The clock had obviously been in storage a long time, and along with a severe need of dusting and polishing, the entire inner workings were completely shot. Hank slaved for weeks over that clock, sanding it down in the studio only to lacquer it back up again, ordering in special parts from Switzerland for the innards. Finally, after almost a month, the clock was ready to be put in the house, and into the front foyer it went. And there it stayed, chiming its heavy brass gong every hour for years to come.
And just now, at precisely six o’clock in the evening and just as Diana is lugging the second of her two suitcases down the stairs to the front door, the grandfather clock chimes six loud times, letting her, and everyone else within the immediate vicinity, know that Zachary’s gala is about to begin.
Diana, dressed in jeans and blouse and with a light jacket on, is waiting for her cab to arrive to take her to the airport. She had gone online and bought the only ticket left from Beverly Hills to Orlando, Florida. The flight leaves at ten o’clock at night, and Diana plans on being on board, arriving in Florida some time in the late evening their time, ready to start her new life.
As she opens the front door and looks out at the end of the driveway where the closed gates stand, watching for her cab to arrive, she hears the clicking of high-heeled shoes on the foyer’s tiled floor. Turning around, Diana sees her mother, dressed up in a blue and green cocktail dress with ornate silver jewelry, looking as healthy as she ever has.
“Diana!” her mother says. “You’re not dressed for the gala!”
“I’m not going, mom. I told you,” Diana says. She turns to look back out the door and sees a car approach the gate, her heart skipping a beat, but her elation dies down as she realizes that it’s just a limo carrying some of the guests for the gala. She presses the button that causes the gates to swing open, not even waiting for them to buzz in.
“You’re not going to come to your own brother’s gala opening?” her mother asks, as though this is the first she’s heard of this.
“Yes mom, I already told you,” Diana says again, watching as the limo approaches the house and then veers down the other fork in the driveway, aiming for the studio. The gate has already closed itself. “I’m going to Florida. I have a modelling job set up there.”
“Well, surely they can wait one day for Diana Simms!” her mother says, a very astute observation, in fact. “Besides, what will Zachary say? He’ll be crushed if you don’t go.”
“I’m sure he won’t miss me,” Diana mutters, hearing the angry tone of her own voice. “He’s got his adoring fans to keep him company.”
“Diana, why are you being so mean?” Deborah asks, approaching her daughter, her high heels clicking on the tiles as she walks. “Don’t you want to see what Zachary has been working on in his studio? When he came to tell Hank and I about it, he seemed very excited. He even mentioned you being there; it sounded like he was looking forward to seeing what you thought.”
Diana’s heart skips a beat in her chest but she forces it back down. Zach was looking forward to her seeing it? Her specifically? She didn’t know about that.
That doesn’t change anything, though. Diana pushes her heart back down into place, forcing her thoughts away from Zach. What’s done is done. He’s made his decision, and she’s made hers. She sees another vehicle approach the gates, and her stomach twists, but it’s just another limo. She lets it in.
“I’m sorry mom,” Diana says, still looking out at the driveway. “I’ve already booked the flight. I’ve called a cab to come pick me up, and it’s too late to-”
“Diana Simms!” her mother’s voice barks, no longer kind and plaintive but sounding stern and commanding now. Diana feels sixteen again as she turns her head, her mother still standing where she was before, still wearing the same dress and the same high heels, but with an air of absolute authority about her, resembling in no way the frail, old woman who was completely bed-ridden merely one day ago.
“Diana Simms, I will not stand idle and watch as my only two children completely avoid one another for no reason whatsoever.”
“Mom-” Diana starts, but she’s cut off.
“No! This has gone too far, the both of you, over the past six years. You running off to New York, not bothering to visit us, not calling up your brother, your own brother! And Zachary, escaping off into his work, partying and doing drugs and Heaven knows what else. Is it so much to call up your sister and ask how she’s doing? Is it really so painful to become involved in her life at all?”
Diana opens her mouth but she can’t think of what to say, so she closes it.
“And now, with Hank and I sick, and thank God for that Doctor Thames, you and Zachary finally come under one roof again. And how do you spend it? Avoiding each other like the plague! Well missy, Zachary’s father and I didn’t get married just so that our only children could pretend the other one doesn’t exist! You two mean a lot to each other, I know it may not seem like it, but you do.
“So you, Diana, you’re coming to this gala. I don’t care about your little trip to Florida — that modelling agency is going to have to wait. Because you’ve got some family to spend time with, and you are not leaving here without doing just that.”
Precisely as the air clears, Deborah’s rant finished, the intercom buzzes and Diana swings her head around, seeing a bright yellow taxi waiting for her at the foot of the driveway.
Diana stares at the car, its engine rumbling, sitting idled at the closed iron gates. Down below she sees a tiny arm stick out of the driver’s side window and then the buzzer goes off again, several times in a row now.
Diana reaches up to the intercom and, instead of pushing the button that opens the gate, she pushes and holds the Talk button:
“I’m sorry … but there’s been a mistake,” she says. “We don’t need a cab today.”
Diana lets go of the button and watches as the taxi cab hesitates a moment, then backs out of the driveway, swivels onto the road, and proceeds to drive back the way it came.
Diana turns to look at her mother, who is smiling now.
“Good,” the older woman says, her voice back to its calm self. “Now go upstairs and find something nice to wear. Some of the guests are already here. I’ll see you in the studio.”
Deborah walks away, her high heels clicking authoritatively as she leaves the foyer, and Diana, behind. Diana sighs to no one around her and walks upstairs, deciding to leave her suitcases where they ar
e.
Chapter 14
Half an hour later, a hardly-put-together Diana makes her way down to the main floor of the house, wearing a white skirt and blouse with a purple spring jacket over top. Her make-up is hardly done, and her hair has only been tied up in a fast ponytail — it’s obvious that she’s putting hardly any effort into making herself look good for this gala.
In Diana’s mind, this is merely a formality. Something to placate her mother who, for some strange reason, is insisting that Diana attend this particular gala opening, this particular evening, even though Diana had never been to any of Zach’s gala openings in the past six years and her mother had never even batted an eye about it. But no, this one is important. Diana supposes it’s because both she and Zach are back at home, and they both came home because her mother and Hank were sick, so this gala opening has some sort of sentimental value. Diana is hoping that Zach will reveal his stupid work of art quickly so that she can slip out and just make the flight out to Florida.
Moving through the house, she bypasses numerous scurrying servants, many of whom are either carrying out trays of food, moving chairs and furniture out of the way, or restocking supplies for the party in the studio. Diana reaches the side doors to the house, the ones closest the studio, and steps out into the cool evening air. The sun is still not down, the sky instead filled with a brilliant orange-yellow light. Diana can see through the studio windows to inside where people are walking about, holding glasses of either scotch or wine, servants moving slowly through the crowds with trays of food as people pick at them like birds.
Diana still can’t see Zach, but she supposes that he’s doing something unnecessarily dramatic, like standing dressed all in black in the corner, or perching himself on a chair, biting at people who walk by.
When she reaches the front door to the studio, though, and is immediately offered a glass of red wine by the servant standing close by, she scans the large room only to find nothing really out of the ordinary. The room is filled with people, indeed, and the white noise of pleasant chatter saturates the air. On one wall there’s a large white sheet covering something — presumably Zach’s latest piece — but the rest of the space has been tidied up, his previous works merely placed here and there, giving the space the feeling of a casual gallery.
It takes Diana a minute of scanning, but eventually she spots Zach chatting nonchalantly with two women, a glass of whisky in his hand. Drumming up her nerves, Diana walks straight over to Zach, ignoring the people pointing and muttering under their breaths as Diana Simms, supermodel, passes them by.
As she reaches Zach he looks up and his face seems to shine. One of the women is in the middle of speaking to him, but he puts up a hand to silence her.
“Sorry, Beverly,” he says, and without another word he steps forward, away from his previous company, to meet Diana before she can reach him.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes latched onto hers. Diana, not anticipating this, finds herself caught in the gaze of her stepbrother. His eyes — oh, those eyes — have got her completely tongue-tied. She opens her mouth, having been intent on telling him off, telling him that she’s only here because her mother forced her to be, and that she is going to leave the first chance she gets … but the words don’t come out.
“I’m glad you came,” Zach says, his voice soft and low, meant only for her.
Diana finally swallows and her voice comes back to her.
“Yes, well … I got your note. Funny you couldn’t have talked to me in person.”
Zach lets out a soft laugh.
“And wander all over that house, looking for you? I had to prepare. Besides, I knew you’d get it that way. This gala is for you, Diana.”
Diana blinks at him.
“What does that mean?” she says. But then she shakes her head. “No, you know what? I don’t care, Zach. I’m only here because my mother made me come, okay? I was planning on flying to Florida tonight, to move there. I still am, in fact. I’m catching a plane tonight and I’m leaving for good, so you’d better get this whole thing over with quick.”
Zach is staring at her, his smile having been replaced with a look like he’s just found out his dog has been hit by a car.
“What?” he asks. “You’re moving to Florida? Since when?”
“Since today,” she says. “Since I discovered, from Eugene, no less, that over the past five days, while I’ve been moping around the house depressed, wondering-” she lowers her voice, “wondering why the fuck my stepbrother up and left me right after we’d made love in the solarium. Just left me sitting there, crying and half-naked! And then you just disappeared, and I tried to come talk to you but you wouldn’t answer the goddamned door, and-”
Diana is breathing hard, and she has to force herself to calm down. She can see, out of the corner of her eye, people glancing in her direction. Wiping hastily at her eyes, being careful not to smear her mascara, she takes a deep breath and looks back up at Zach, who is looking down at her, concern on his face.
“It’s over, okay Zach? I’m through. I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t wait around for you only to find out that you’re just going to leave me for your stupid fucking work. And then to throw some fucking party like everything is okay.”
“Diana, that’s not what this is about,” Zach says.
“That’s not what what is about?” Diana asks.
“This,” he says, glancing around the room. “This isn’t a party. It’s an opening. I finished a painting … five days, Diana. Five days I worked non-stop, and it was finished, less than a week. Beverly, the woman I was just talking to, she’s from the MOMA. The Museum of Modern Art in New Yo-”
“I know what the MOMA is, you idiot,” Diana interrupts. “I lived there, remember.”
Zach nods quickly. “Right. Anyway, she said this might be a world record. She wants to see the piece today, to see if they can accept it. It’ll be the first time I’ll have gotten in there. My first piece. What do you think?”
Diana gives him a look.
“I’m glad for you,” she says. “Congratu-fucking-lations. Maybe now you can move to New York and see what it’s really like living there. Send me a postcard when you do.”
“No, Diana,” Zach shakes his head, “you don’t understand. Diana, this piece … this is something I’ve been building up my entire life to create. And Diana, I couldn’t have made it without you. I couldn’t have … even … conceived of it. It’s … well, it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever painted. And it’s for you. It’s all for you, Diana.”
“Zach, what the fuck are you talking abou-”
But Diana’s words are cut off as the sound of loud music overpowers the white noise of conversation. People’s words die down and all attention is drawn to the front where Beverly, the woman Zach was speaking to earlier, stands on a small platform in front of the covered painting, looking around. Finally she gives a hand signal and the music dies away.
“Welcome, welcome everybody, to Zach Daniels’ latest gala opening!”
Applause — loud, interested, aristocratic applause fills the air. Heads swivel as people turn to find Zach, Diana feeling put on the spot by being close by as they focus on him. She can feel their eyes on her too, can see people whispering into ears, some nodding, others shaking their heads.
“Zach Daniels, as I’m sure you’ll all aware,” Beverly goes on, “has been creating masterpiece works of art since before he was twenty years old. As an avid painter and provocateur, he’s recently …”
Diana tugs on the sleeve of Zach’s shirt and he turns to look at her, Beverly’s speech still going on.
“I’m out of here,” she says in a low voice. “Enjoy your audience, and enjoy your life. I’m moving away tonight.”
“No, Diana, wait,” Zach whispers as she turns to go, and he suddenly grabs onto her upper arm, causing her to freeze. She can feel her heart beating fast; can feel herself being drawn to him, even though her mind is telling her to run, run far far away.
Diana turns to face her stepbrother again, forcing a look of anger on her face.
“Let me go,” she snarls.
“I’m not going to let you leave,” Zach says, bringing his face closer to Diana. She can smell him, his scent filling her nostrils, and once again she has to force herself back from that place that she longs to go to.
“Why not?” she asks. “You’ve got everything you want now. You had your way with me. Just let me go in peace.”
“Diana, I’m not going to lose you again,” he says as she tries tugging her arm away from his strong fingers. “I’m not going to let you out of my li-”
“… Zach Daniels!”
Loud applause fills the room as Zach and Diana freeze, Zach immediately letting go of his stepsister’s arm. They both stare at the crowd as, up by the concealed painting, Beverly is applauding as well, looking at him expectantly. Diana watches as Zach forces a smile to his face and walks towards her, towards where he’s expected to unveil his latest creation. Diana watches along with everyone else, forcing a smile to her face. Zach reaches the platform where Beverly is standing and climbs up it himself, bringing him a foot taller than everyone else.
“Thank you,” he says as the applause dies down. “Thank you everyone. Thank you all for coming here tonight.”
Setting her jaw, Diana turns away from her stepbrother, turns towards the front door to the studio. But the room is so crowded that she can hardly even see it for the people in the way.
“You know, my career as a painter, as an artist, has been very inspiring to me.”
Diana begins moving towards the exit, squeezing between people as politely as possible, some of them needing to be asked to move twice since they’re all paying attention to Zach’s speech.
“But I feel that, for the past number of years, I haven’t really felt truly inspired. My works have become more and more mundane the farther into them I went. Until, of course, this past week.”
Diana has to lift her glass of wine above her head so as not to bump it into anybody. She’s surrounded on all sides by people, but still she’s slowly gaining on the door.